prietors of
leading hotels continued to add odd thousands of acres to their game
preserves.

Then suddenly the town blossomed overnight with huge eight-sheet posters
on every available hoarding, blazoning the news:

JULES MAX
begs to announce the return of
SARA LAW
in a new Comedy entitled FAITH
by JULES MAX
Theatre MAX--Friday October 15th

But Whitaker had the information before he saw the broad-sides in the
streets. The morning paper propped up on his breakfast table contained
the illuminating note under the caption, "News of Plays and Players":

"Jules Max has sprung another and perhaps his greatest surprise on
the theatre-going public of this city. In the face of the rumor
that he was in dire financial straits and would make no productions
whatever this year, the astute manager has been out of town for two
months secretly rehearsing the new comedy entitled 'Faith' of which
he is the author and in which Sara Law will return finally to the
stage.

"Additional interest attaches to this announcement in view of the
fact that Miss Law has authorized the publication of her intention
never again to retire from the stage. Miss Law is said to have
expressed herself as follows: 'It is my dearest wish to die in
harness. I have come to realize that a great artiste has no duty
greater than her duty to her art. I dedicate my life and artistry
to the American Public.'

"The opening performance of 'Faith' will take place at the Theatre
Max to-morrow evening, Friday, October 15. The sale of seats opens
at the box-office this morning. Despite the short notice, a bumper
house is confidently expected to welcome back this justly popular
and most charming American actress in the first play of which Mr.
Max has confessed being the author."

Whitaker glanced up incredulously at the date-line of the sheet. Short
notice, indeed: the date was Thursday, October fourteenth. Max had
planned his game and had played his cards cunningly, in withholding this
announcement until the last moment. So much was very clear to him whose
eyes had wit to read between those lines of trite press-agent
phraseology.

After a pause Whitaker rose and began to walk the length of the room,
hands in his pockets, head bowed in thought. He was telling himself that
he was not greatly surprised, after all; he